


Nimbus 2001

by WolfRune20855



Series: The Basics of Broom Magic [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Caelum is a brat, Gen, Inspired by The Rigel Black Chronicles, It's September, Marcus isn't here but he is in spirit, and broom politics, broom magic because why not, but we love him, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29684127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfRune20855/pseuds/WolfRune20855
Summary: Caelum Lestrange picks up his broom.
Series: The Basics of Broom Magic [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179386
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	Nimbus 2001

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: as far as Harry goes, I do not particularly lean in any one direction. That being said, the idea of Caelum having a crush on her is wonderful and so it exists in this story. 
> 
> (I am sorry for the lack of Marcus. He will appear in the next fic. Promise.)

Caelum Lestrange didn’t really use his broom. He had one––he was a wizard, after all, and every self-respecting wizard owned a broom––but he didn’t enjoy flying through the air. He preferred his feet to remain firmly planted on the ground, where the risk of injury was minimal. He wasn’t enthusiastic about flying, nor was he particularly good at it. He wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t one of those meatheads obsessed with quidditch as if the ability to perform magic––the ability to _brew_ ––wasn’t more amazing than flying on a broom. Flying didn’t require any magic at all. A _muggle_ could do it if they wanted. Caelum sneered at the thought. 

When his broom became disenchanted through circumstances that Caelum did not want to think about, he would have been happy to let it sit on the shelf, collecting dust for the rest of its days. The only problem with that plan was that his uncle bought him the broom, and there were only so many excuses that would work on Rabastian Lestrange. Caelum needed to get the Nimbus 2001 fixed, and he needed it done before his uncle’s birthday party. 

This was the reason that Caelum was currently standing in the middle of Quality Quidditch Supplies, frowning at the swarms of people crowded around him. The number of people obsessed with the asinine sport never failed to amaze Caelum. Shelves filled with quidditch gear, posters, figurines, and broom maintenance kits filled the front of the shop. A long counter ran along the back of the shop; all of the latest broom models were on display behind the counter. Five sales-wizards and witches stood behind that counter, chatting with customers, selling them brooms that Caelum was sure weren’t worth the price. 

He approached the counter just as one of the sales-witches finished wrapping up a broom for a customer. She was middle-aged, tall with blonde hair and aristocratic features whose apron identified her as Helena Bell. Caelum would have guessed that she was pureblood, but sales-witches rarely ever were. The owners of the shops in Diagon Alley were (they were required to be by law), but the worker were almost always halfblood, with the occasional muggleborn thrown in the mix.

“I’m here to pick up an order,” Caelum said. A bloody expensive order based on the invoice he’d gotten. It meant he wouldn’t be buying any new ingredients for a month, but it also meant he wouldn’t have to face his uncle’s, father’s, and mother’s wraths. 

“Mr. Lestrange?” she guessed. As Caelum answered the affirmative, the woman said, “You look just like your parents.”

“You don’t know my parents,” Caelum sneered. 

Helena Bell arched an eyebrow. A line was forming behind Caelum, annoying prepubescent children twittering about brooms to their indulgent grandparents. “Come on through.” Helena lifted up the counter, ushering Caelum through. She pointed to a door in the corner of the shop. “Go through there. The broom should be ready.”

“Should be?” Caelum let displeasure seep into his voice, but he did as the woman instructed, slipping away from the crowds. 

The noise faded away as the door shut behind him. Caelum found himself at the top of a small stairwell. Inventory was tucked beneath the stairs. What couldn’t fit underneath lined the walls of the workshop. That’s what this room was, Caelum realized. A workshop. There was a table in the middle of the room with a broom atop it, a cramped row of cabinets stuffed between inventory, a stack of wood on the back wall, and barrels filled with different types of hay. 

Caelum descended the stairs into the workshop. It was barely even September, but a chill was beginning to seep into the room. Caelum wondered if they used heating charms, or if those affected the crafting. He had never considered what went into making a broom. He had imagined that they were mass-produced in factories, whipped together by magic with a handful of lazy spells cast on them to make them fly. This workshop looked nothing like a factory, though. It looked personal, like Caelum’s potions laboratory.

Moving closer to the table, Caelum peered over the broom, inspecting it. It resembled the sleek Nimbus 2001 he owned only in that it was a broom. The handle and seat were light-red in color. The brush was pale yellow, nearly white. It was held together with copper. A notebook sat open on the table, displaying the hard work that went into the design: the Flintlock, it was called. Caelum would’ve been impressed, had he been a different man.

There was a gasp behind Caelum. He turned around, mildly surprised to discover a lanky blonde girl, probably a year or two younger than himself (probably closer to Harry’s age, Caelum noted to his irritation), behind him, having just entered from the alley. Her outer-robe was missing, underneath she wore a plain pair of rough, brown bloomers with a loose white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. It wasn’t fashionable by anyone’s standards, most certainly not Caelum’s, and he found himself reminded of Harry again. 

The two girls looked nothing alike––this one could even be considered pretty in the right light––but there was something about her clothing choice that reminded Caelum of his fellow potioneer. She wore clothing that suited her craft, however unfashionable it would be considered. It reminded Caelum of Harry and her damned boots. 

“What are you doing here?” the blonde girl demanded, looking eerily like the woman upstairs. 

Caelum felt his posture stiffen, adopting an air of indifference that he’d learned at a young age. “I’ve come to collect my broom.”

The girl arched an eyebrow. “Must be busy up there if they’re sending you down here.” She brushed past Caelum, yanking open a cupboard. Several brooms––including Caelum’s––rested inside. “You the Nimbus 2001, Cleansweep, or Firebolt?”

Caelum noted that she asked his broom instead of his name. He was sure whatever his answer was would determine how she viewed him. He didn’t really care. It was odd to meet someone who judged people based on their brooms, however. “The Nimbus,” Caelum answered. 

The girl eyed him curiously. “You’re the _Nimbus_?” It seemed like she was giving him an out and expecting him to take it––to apologize for his mistake and leave the shop. Caelum couldn’t figure out why. 

“Yes.”

Pulling his broom out of the cupboard, the girl turned to face him. “Did anyone ever teach you the proper care for a broom, sir?” 

Outrage rose in Caelum’s chest that the girl would even suggest he was incompetent. He was a _Lestrange_. She was nothing more than an oddly dressed shopgirl. “I know how to look after my own broom.” Caelum reached for the broom, but the girl resisted letting it go. 

“I’m sure you do, sir. I mean no disrespect.” Caelum didn’t believe her for a second. “A _fine_ man such as yourself knows better than to accidentally disenchant a broom using an experimental potion. Flying with potions is highly dangerous.”

Caelum hadn’t been flying with potions. He’d been brewing, and he’d received a letter from a friend (not that he would call Harry a friend, but still…) and his owl had knocked over the cauldron, which had spilled on his broom, which was underneath his brewing table because he was too lazy to put it up. “I don’t fly with potions,” Caelum insisted. “I’m not an idiot.”

“I didn’t say that you were, sir.” Every time the girl called Caelum _‘sir’_ she managed to make it sound like an insult. Caelum hated it.

“Stop calling me that.”

The girl blinked, surprised by his outburst. “What?” 

“Sir.” Caelum gritted his teeth. “I have a name.”

The girl glanced at the order sheet tied to the end of the broom. She arched an eyebrow. “Okay, Mr. Lestrange.”

“It’s _Caelum_.” He had no idea why he was giving this girl––this stranger––permission to call him by his first name. He didn’t even know her name. It was the way she said ‘sir,’ Caelum decided. It made him uncomfortable. 

“Okay, Caelum.” 

“And I’ll have your name.”

“Katie,” the girl said after a moment of staring at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. He was a Black and a Lestrange. He was bound to lose it occasionally. “Bell. Katie Bell.” Caelum didn’t know how to respond to that. An awkward silence settled over them. Katie finally broke it, thrusting the broom into Caelum’s hands. “Right, si-Caelum. Please take better care of your broom in the future. A broom like your Nimbus 2001 won’t survive another disenchanting.” 

“What do you mean, ‘a broom like my Nimbus 2001’?”

“A shop model,” Katie answered as if it were obvious. “Any Nimbus bought in stores is mass-produced. The only custom Nimbus’s go to professional teams.”

“You mean to say that my Nimbus is the same as any old broom?” Caelum didn’t even like flying, but he was offended by the idea that his Nimbus was somehow ordinary. It had been the best model on the market at the time it was bought for him. He supposed ‘on the market’ implied mass production. 

“It’s a good broom,” Katie insisted. “Especially if you’re a beginner flyer. It’s got good breaking mechanisms, and it’s fast. A seeker’s broom, but only if you’re playing recreationally. Compared to most English models, it’s top of the line. Would be totally decimated in Brazil, though.”

“Why?”

Katie nodded. “The fastest recreational seeker brooms come out of Brazil. The Bala 800 broke world records when it was released. There’s such a high demand for it that no store outside of South America carries it. I’d kill to see it in action.”

“So England doesn’t make the best brooms in the world?”

“Yes, and no. There are a handful of really good designers around––my da being one of them––but as far as mass-production goes, we’re lightyears behind the States, Germany, and Japan.”

“And what about custom brooms?” Caelum couldn’t help it. He was naturally curious about the way things worked. He hadn’t even considered the levels of magic that could go into crafting a broom before stepping foot in Katie’s workshop. He wanted to know more. It would be helpful in the future, he reasoned. Broom crafting surely required at least some potions.

“That depends.”

“On what?” 

Katie sat down on the edge of her work table, her feet resting in a chair. “On a lot of things. Sierra Dendron is known for high-flyers. Mika’s doing some ground-breaking research on the possibility of breaking the sound barrier while flying. Rowan Greengrass is Nimbus’s head designer. They’ve got commissions for half the league. Franklin Bell’s got the other half. He’s the wizard who designed the Firebolt––still the fastest broom on the European market. Although Geschwind will probably catch up within the year. German’s don’t seem to like it when other countries overtake them in speed.”

“And the Flintlock?” Caelum’s gaze shifted towards the broom sitting atop the table. 

“It’s one of mine,” Katie said, a hint of pride buried in her voice. “Hasn’t been tested out yet. I just finished the prototype this morning. It’s a chaser’s broom––all within league regulations, of course. If everything works as it's supposed to it should be fast, durable, and flame resistant.”

“If everything works as it should,” Caelum echoed.

Katie shrugged. “Broom making’s not an exact science––no matter what anyone tries to tell you. You never know how spells will react to each other. I’ve blown up more than one broom trying to get spells to interact with runes.”

An idea started to form in Caelum’s mind. It was, quite frankly, a stupid idea. Nearly as stupid as asking Harry Potter for help with her shaped-imbuing brewing technique, but that had turned out wonderfully for Caelum. In the end, the risk had been worth it with Harry. There was a likelihood that this risk would be worth it too.

“How much would you charge for it?”

“Dunno.” Katie eyed the broom with the scrutiny of a designer, picking out all of its flaws that were invisible to Caelum’s eye. “Most of the time, you can’t get a custom broom for less than five-thousand galleons, but I’m not an established designer. I’d probably price it around two-thousand-five-hundred, maybe a little less.” Her blue eyes narrowed at Caelum suspiciously. “It’s not for sale.” 

“I don’t want it.” Caelum dismissed her accusation with a wave of his hand. “As you said, it’s a chaser’s broom. The Nimbus and Firebolts are seeker’s brooms. I’m sure if I went upstairs I could find beater’s and keeper’s brooms too.”

“What’s your point?”

Caelum glared at Katie, annoyed at her for interrupting him. “My point is that brooms seem to be designed with one thing in mind: quidditch. Where’s the broom for the average wizard––something that’s comfortable to fly with and doesn’t break easily––something that you could fall asleep on and still arrive at your destination on time?”

Katie’s eyes widened as she processed what Caelum was saying. _Finally_ , he thought. She could be awfully slow. “Nobody makes household brooms anymore––not since the invention of floo––but I think you’re right. There could be a market for it. A retired luxury item.” Grabbing her notebook off of the table, she flipped to a clean page and began jotting down ideas, using her wand as a pencil. “That’s brilliant.”

“I know.” And now for the next part of his plan. “Keep me updated on the development of the broom. I’m apprenticing under Edgar Whitaker.”

“Who’s that?”

Her attention still focused on her notebook, Katie couldn’t see the glare that Caelum sent her way. _Who’s that?_ He should’ve known better than to expect someone with Katie’s lack of education to know who Edgar Whitaker was. Harry had set his expectations far too high for halfbloods. “He’s a potion’s master.”

“Like Snape,” Katie murmured absentmindedly. 

Caelum’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know who Severus Snape is but not Edgar Whitaker?”

“I’ve got a few friends at Hogwarts. He has mixed reports. Gryffindors hate him. Slytherins respect him.” 

“You’re friends with Slytherins?” Caelum would have thought better of his peers in the ancient house at Hogwarts. Slytherin had a reputation.

Ignoring his question, Katie glanced up at him. “So, you’re a potioneer and you’re willing to help. That’s good. I’ve been wanting to experiment with potions, but I’m rubbish with them. Much better with runes.” She paused, studying Caelum. His skin crawled under her scrutiny. “What do you get out of this? Pureblood blokes like you don’t befriend halfblood witches if there isn’t anything to be gained.”

“We’re not friends,” Caelum insisted.

“Slip of the tongue. Won't happen again.” Katie stopped writing as a thought crossed her mind. “I’m not interested if that’s what you’re trying to do. My mum’s already got me going out-”

“Merlin, no.” Bile rose to the back of Caelum’s throat at the very thought. “I want to first model. I’ll help, but I want the first model free of charge.”

Katie stared at him, her eyes tracing the lines of his face. Suddenly, she shrugged, her demeanor shifting from suspicious to eager. “Okay,” she said with a smile.

“That’s it?”

“You help me figure out how to work potions into wood, and I’ll make you the broom. I’ll give you a three-percent cut after production if it ever hits the shelves.”

“Ten.”

“Four.”

“Seven.”

“Three.”

“Five.”

Katie nodded. “Deal.” 

Caelum frowned, realizing that was probably the amount she planned on giving him in the first place. Shouldering his Nimbus 2001, Caelum headed back up the stairs, reminding Katie, “Send me the designs when you’ve figured them out.”

“You got it.”

Caelum didn’t let anyone see the smile that crossed his face as he exited Quality Quidditch Supplies. The Nimbus 2001 felt cheap in his hand, but not for much longer. Soon, Caelum would have a custom broom designed for his needs. He was a Lestrange, after all, and Lestrange’s only accepted the best.


End file.
